Loveliness of Ladybugs
by izadreamer
Summary: A collection of short drabbles ranging from funny and romantic to depressing and dramatic, depending on the story.
1. Out of the Bag

_A/N: A short post-reveal fic in which Marinette and Adrien do the dating-but-not thing and their classmates try and fail to keep up._

* * *

At first, no one had noticed it.

It had become a sort of accepted fact to them, that Adrien Agreste, kind and sweet as he is, is rather bad at answering his cell during a crisis. And Marinette, so shy—surely she must be hiding! After all, why else would they vanish without a trace each time an akuma attacks?

They certainly don't try and disperse these rumors. And they always vanish at different times, it seems, and show up from different places… it makes sense, in a convoluted, probably-influenced-by-denial sort of way.

But then—and here's where things get weird—then they start disappearing and reappearing… together.

Adrien passes it off with a nervous laugh and a wave of his hand. He smiles more than he used to, or at least differently. He is the reserved and well-mannered type, except sometimes when he smiles it's more cocky than sweet and every once in a while he'll come out with a joke that makes everyone groan.

But he's still the well-mannered one, even if he seems to be slipping, so they take his half-hearted excuses and agree. Of course it made sense for him to run off! He had a photo shoot! Even if it was, you know, pouring with rain…

Marinette is harder. Everyone and their mother knows about her crush on Adrien—except perhaps Adrien himself, but who knows with him—so her sudden lack of stuttering and outrageous blushing whenever she comes face to with him is rather startling.

So are the smiles she gives him, the ones no one had ever expected sweet, shy Marinette capable of. It's a sly quirk of her mouth, teasing and fond, the smile of a lifelong friend to another except hers has an edge to it, a flirtatious undertone that makes everyone stop because Marinette? Flirting with Adrien? Without falling over herself blushing and stammering and scattering papers everywhere?

Check the skies for flying pigs, as they say.

If anything, these new changes only heighten their suspicions—but Marinette manages to answer absolutely nothing and everything whenever they manage to corner her. She laughs a bit, always nervously, her eyes flickering about, and then she'll start to babble, and before they know it they're talking about something completely different and Marinette has already vanished again, off to speak with Ayla or Adrien.

Everyone knows there is something up with them, a secret the two are keeping under wraps, but no one is entirely sure what. They leave clues lying about with their every action, but none of the pieces make sense, and the picture they form is blurry and incomprehensible.

Because one day out of the blue Adrien Agreste ran through the halls and crashed into Marinette Dupain-Cheng like he couldn't believe she was real, and she stiffened and hugged him back like he was a dream come to life. Because in the span of one night they went from distant acquaintances to something more, but no one can say why or how, and it is maddening how little they know about such a miraculous event.

They don't understand why Adrien howls—howls!—with laughter when Marinette buys him a bell necklace for New Year's, or why all Adrien seems to do is sprout cat puns whenever Marinette is within hearing range.

They don't understand why Adrien looks at her as if she's the stars themselves, and they can't comprehend the aching affection in her eyes when she nudges his shoulder with a gentle fist and says, "You okay?"

They don't understand but they know it exists, this strange not-quite-friendship and not-quite-love that surrounds the two, and all the secrets that bind them together.

Perhaps they will never understand, but that's okay too—because Marinette is kind and sweet and Adrien is well-mannered but actually kind of funny, and they are their friends, so they'll accept them anyway, changes and all.

(Though a little explanation would be nice.)


	2. slowly we drown in the silence

_A/N: Going off the idea that the akuma version of Chat Noir would be Chat "Blanc". This little story is based off a thought I had—if Chat Noir is a protector, does that make Chat "Blanc" an avenger?_

 _Warning for blood and implied character death. I'm giving this one a T rating guys._

* * *

Chat Noir feels cold. There is ice in his veins and ice in his heart and while some part of him is screaming, shaking, crying like the child he truly is, outwardly he stays calm and quiet and perfectly, carefully numb.

She isn't breathing. Or maybe she is, and he is simply too far gone into hysteria to tell, but her eyes aren't opening and her chest isn't moving and her face is perfectly slack, no soft smile or determined scowl in sight. He brushes a hand through her hair and his fingers pull away stained with her blood, shiny and wet on the stiff leather of his uniform.

It is his fault. He is aware of that, in the same distant way that he is aware of Hawkmoth laughing cruelly on the other side of the room, the same distant way he is aware of Ladybug's blood on his hands. He had been too hasty, too reckless, and too quick to disregard her fearful cries for caution, and the result of his actions is far worse than he has ever imagined.

He has always known, somewhere deep inside, that he would gladly die for her. He just never imagined that she would do the same for him.

He cradles her head and starts to cry, weakly and helplessly, messy tears that drip off his face and burn behind his eyes. His breath is catching in his throat with every broken sob, his hands trembling as he pulls her closer. Her mask remains, her suit nearly the same shade as her blood. Even in near-death, she won't let him see her face.

He hears rather than sees Hawkmoth approach, and he refuses to look, just drags her broken body closer and screams at him, wordless and fearful and full of hatred. The emotion is like poison, burning and choking him, smothering his heart and blurring his vision.

And then there is ice again, cold and chilling, darkness sweeping through him. He thinks he must be dying, because there is no relief in this icy hatred, only pain, and the only reason he isn't still screaming is because the darkness has sealed his throat shut.

The bell at his neck is ringing, incessant and unending, and in its chimes he can hear a voice, whispering softly. It is not Plagg, it is not Ladybug, it is not Hawkmoth—it is a child, quiet and vengeful, the little rich boy he used to be, hating his mother for leaving and his father for not caring enough.

 _No one will ever take my friends away from me again,_ the voice whispers, soft and dangerous in his ears. _We won't let them. We'll kill them all before they can ever hurt anyone of ours. Father, Hawkmoth, Chloe—we'll never let them hurt us, never again._

He tilts back his head. His teeth feel too sharp, his claws too real as his fingers curl into his palms. His hands are clothed in white, and his vision is sharper than any human's has a right to be, the whole world slipping into dizzying focus. When he looks up to see Hawkmoth smirking down at him, Chat Blanc smiles back, his teeth needlelike and too many, his grin wide and merciless, lips stretching back to expose every serrated edge.

And when he plunges his clawed fingers into Hawkmoth's chest, eyes wide open and gleeful, his grin never wavering, the ice in his veins smothers the whisper of _no, no this isn't what I wanted_ and the tinkling of the bell chases all his doubts away.


	3. Funeral March

_A/N: Long story short: I kept seeing all this art of Marinette revealing herself as Ladybug to save her friends and I was like, 'Damn. I want to write that.' So here I am._

* * *

Marinette is burning.

Every breath is cold and ashy, burning in her lungs like acid, squeezing her heart and stealing her composure away. Her eyes are alight and only her will is keeping the tears from streaming down her wind-beaten cheeks, because her city is dying and her best friends are falling and she calls herself a hero when in reality she hasn't saved anyone.

Each step is like the note of a funeral march, slow and low and whispering of her doom. She doesn't mind it as much as she should, because she can still hear them calling out to her, the voices of her loved ones, and maybe she still has some time left after all.

 _"Marinette!"_ Alya shrieks, and the terror in her voice strikes her like a blade, digging into her back and twisting, carving her shame into her skin.

 _You kept yourself a secret to keep them safe,_ the words read, _and you broke their hearts with every lie and now they're going to die and nothing you did could have stopped that. All you did, you did for **nothing.**_

"It's okay, Alya," she hears herself say. She'd given her jacket to Alya, to use for Chat Noir—beautiful, overconfident Chat who had fought without hesitation even without her there, who had struggled and bled until he could barely stand. The wind is cold and biting against her bare skin, her scrapped forearms stinging, her knees worn down to blood and bone.

"It's okay," Marinette repeats, and feels Tikki rest on her shoulder, warm and comforting even when Marinette knows the kwami is mourning.

She turns to looks at them. Alya is fury and fire, her face twisted in anger but her cheeks stained with tears. Her parents are frozen and frightened, her father looking to be on the verge of a breakdown; her mother's heartbreak as clear as the bloody gash on her cheek.

She finds her gaze drawn to the last, who is struggling to stand despite his wounds, whose head was resting on Alya's lap moments before, so great were his injuries. Chat Noir is quiet and fearful in a way she has never seen, staring at her with wide eyes and a look that begs her not to do whatever it is she's planning.

She wonders if they will hate her for this, when all is said and done. She hopes not. She loves them, the both of them, her fiery friend and her flirty partner. They are her other half, the people she could never live without—and she is Ladybug. She is Lady Luck.

She is a hero, even if she's never been all that good at it, and she will never let them die. Not so long as she still breathes, not so long as she can still move. She will bear Alya's anger and Chat's silence only if they are alive to give it.

"Tikki," she whispers, and she has never felt more real than in this moment, with their pained eyes fixed upon her and ash burning in her lungs, "Tikki, transform me."

Red light eclipses her vision, settling around her, spinning, twirling, changing, and as their faces fade from view Marinette opens her arms and reveals her last secret for the world to see.


End file.
